Who? Ernest & Open Where? The hospital When? Boxing day. What? Just another day in the psych ward. Warnings TW suicide Open? Yes.
Days in the hospital had turned into weeks, just as they always had before. Ernest couldn't help but feel bitter. As far as he was concerned, Jack had lied to him. He'd promised him there woouldn't be any doctors, that he'd protect him from all of this, but then he supposed it was easier for everyone. Just lock the door and get rid of the problem.
Dr Cuddy was drugging him. At first, he'd outright refused and made it all as difficult for her as he possibly could. Intravenous had been the only way, and so it had gone on for a week or so. Now, he was taking them himself, even if he repeated the same questions every time. What was it? What dosage? What was it for? Every day she patiently answered him over again. He examined them daily, making sure that they were the same drugs as last time and she hadn't snuck in anything new.
At first, his time had been spent either lying down staring at the ceiling under sedation, or punching the walls and upturning furniture, screaming and crying when it wore off. After fiddling with dosages, she hadn't let him get to that point again. She claimed she didn't want him to injure himself, and he was just about starting to believe her. She hadn't actually hurt him, not like the doctors before.
Today was different. Today, he was awake, out of bed and dressed in his own clothes. He wasn't ranting and raving and hitting the walls or himself, but almost cautiously looking through the small pile of books his son had brought for him days ago. Until now, they had been used only as projectiles against the locked door.